A Puddle of Cloud
by Duderman
Summary: Cloud, disarmed and exhausted, is left to struggle against an opponent that may very well be the deciding factor between his living, and dying. Cloud reflects on past events, concluding that he deserves all that is to come. Survival is his only option.


Yet another oneshot. Was originally meant to be the second chapter to "This Charming Man", but didn't end up meeting the standards I needed it to after I read it afterwards. Its plot has also little to do with TCM, so I decided to just post it as a oneshot.

Reviews are as always appreciated, and will be responded to.

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A puddle of Cloud's own blood reflected a faint image of the moon in its depths.

Death in itself was a financially profitable phenomenon. Cloud knew this; he had practiced its benefits.

There was a time in his life when he and his blade cut down business tycoons, gang members, leaders and government officials. This was how he made money, how he survived; he challenged the survival of others, to further extend his own; a funny thing.

Cloud's mother had always told him that all the wrong deeds he would ever commit, would come back twofold. He now thought of this… and he understood it.

A gang member, or mercenary hired by said gang, had obviously thought it appropriate to blow his Fenrir off of the road and beat his head into the ground.

Revenge.

Cloud, as he lay there, defenseless, motionless… couldn't help but wonder why he wasn't angry, sad or scared at that very moment. The answer came to him quickly, as though he needn't even ponder; he deserved it. He deserved all of the punishment he had received, and all of the punishment that was to follow.

Another fist, aimed clumsily at Cloud's forehead, sent him flying down towards the pavement once more.

Cloud raised his heavy, aching head upwards. He was now observing his opponent; the opponent that had broken him far too easily.

Cloud remembered vaguely being parted his weapon, his comrade... his best friend, when being flung off of his trusty Fenrir, and into the twilight abyss of the Midgar Highlands. He thought of this once more, looking around himself hopeless for a brief moment, as though he would spot his weapon out in the distance, shining in the moonlight; ready for action. But no such thing would happen. The only thing that did happen would be an unwelcome chuckle emitting from his now amused opponent, tasting his helplessness.

Cloud was now forced to concentrate once more as his opponent was evidently preparing for one last charge. Cloud managed to push himself upwards, lifting his aching body onto its feet.

As he stood there… the rain pouring around him… the moonlight reflecting off of the now crimson puddles along the desolate road… he realized that now might be the moment he died. Not fighting Sephiroth in a struggle for the planet, not fighting Kadaj in a struggle for humanity… but fighting a bandit, a common thug… in a struggle for…

'_Survival…' _

And as he observed his opponent charging towards him, creating small craters where his feet passed; Cloud was able to come to one last realization.

'_I like it better that way…'_

Cloud's fist thrusted through the giant's skull, completely nullifying his senses, as the massive body fell to the ground with a sickening crunch.

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Cloud wasn't aware of how many hours had passed between his falling to the ground in a state of exhaustion, and his waking up to a now gleaming sun.

He stood clumsily, raising a hand to rest at his temple as he tried to process his position, predicament and a solution to all of this.

Cloud instinctively began a slow, limping walk towards what he thought would be Edge; but realized that he was headed towards the sun… Edge was in the other direction… and he had his phone, possibly the more convenient solution. He flipped it open and slowly dialed a familiar number.

No answer.

This began his slow, effortful journey towards Edge.

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I had found him, exhausted and delirious at the edge of the town. He looked as though he had just stepped out of the Northern Crater; his clothes were torn, his face was pale and contorted, and he now sported a number of new bruises, scars and cuts.

I tried to ask him about all these things as I carried him towards the Bar, but received no answer.

I forced my way into the dimly lit bar, searching for the light switch as I placed his broken figure onto the nearest table. I turned on the lights and made my way towards the bar. I returned with a wet towel, which I placed on his forehead.

I proceeded to try to clean whatever wounds needed urgent cleaning before attempting to do something I hadn't done in a long while. I placed my hands on his lower ankle, firmly gripping him as I looked up into his eyes. His face was contorting in pain with me just touching his severely damaged leg.

I couldn't help but pity him as a snapped his broken leg back into its original position, hearing a sickly scream escape his lips. He was moaning, gritting his teeth, attempting to drown his screams out by keeping his lips pressed together.

Even in a state of subconscienceness, Cloud was reluctant to show weakness.

This was his strongest virtue… or at least I thought so.

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Vincent was thanked for taking care of Cloud and calling Tifa back to the bar. Even though he never needed thanks, he appreciated the gesture all the same.

The kids had gone to bed as soon as they were assured of Cloud's well-being. Yuffie soon followed.

Barret carried Cloud up to his room, followed closely by an extremely concerned Tifa. I watched the two of them strip Cloud down to his undergarments and fit him into bed-appropriate clothing; he would be lying in that bed much longer than one night.

Barret exited the room shortly after they had settled Cloud down in bed; no doubt to go check on the children.

This left just Cloud and Tifa. Vincent never included himself when referring to groups of people; he didn't consider himself to be a person, after all.

Vincent noted Cloud's final words, before he drifted off into painful slumber:

"You were all I thought about"

Vincent caught of glimpse of Tifa's smile before he briskly took off down the stairs, out of the door and into the streets.


End file.
